Observations

His dad makes himself comfortable,
Facing a space heater,
a blanket draped over his slight frame.
He leans back, head tilted upward,
Facing the ceiling,
as he lightly closes his eyes

Mine makes himself comfortable on a lazyboy or a chaise,
He curls his spine downward and faces the floor, head facing down,
as he lightly closes his eyes

His mom looks nervous and is torn between sensing a darkening future
And denying the present.

Mine looks nervous and is torn
between sensing a darkening future
And believing there is yet another
victory waiting to be snatched.

I see my own face in the mirror and imagine a rougher terrain, ridges and folds and vanished lips, that would stare back at me from the mirror one day, suddenly, making me wonder why I ever believed aging would be gradual.

I wonder if I would look up or face down when I lightly close my eyes while contemplating my inner child’s crumbling, creaking prison.

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